


Just A Dream

by Fallingtowardsoblivion



Series: Amelia's Merlin Bash [6]
Category: Merlin (BBC), Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Asylums, Ballet Dancer Merlin, Dark, Established Relationship, Evil Uther, Hallucinations, Hospitalization, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Period-Typical Homophobia, Politician Arthur, Sad, unedited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 01:49:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7020772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallingtowardsoblivion/pseuds/Fallingtowardsoblivion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin is a ballet dancer in the 1940s, until one day a dark secret is discovered. </p><p>Prompts: secret identity discovered, Ballet shoes</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Meh, this is a horrible description. Also I used a liberal interpretation of the prompts lmao. I hope you enjoy! (unbeta'd)

 

Merlin stretched, feeling the light burn as his muscles flexed then relaxed. The ache mirrored that of his backside.

Smiling a bit, thinking about the cause _behind_ said ache, Merlin turned and snuggled down into Arthur’s chest, burying his face in his lover’s neck. Arthur stirred a bit, waking up just enough to wrap a strong arm around Merlin’s middle.

The dancer’s smile turned into a grin, and Merlin couldn't help but huff out a bit: exasperated, content.

Arthur was a solid weight underneath him, a solid heat beside him. Being a politician, it wouldn’t be expected for him to stay fit; but Arthur was never just one thing, and therefore being a mediocre footie player left him toned.

Much to Merlin’s enjoyment.

With another sigh of contentment bubbling on his lips, Merlin pressed his face deeper into the crook of Arthur’s neck, cherishing the pulse underneath his lips. He fell asleep like this; languid, happy and sated.

\---

It was silly, really – how everything fell apart. Silly and soft and with more of a low gasp rather than a loud bang.

Merlin huddled in on himself, hugging his legs to his chest. It was cold; he was cold. This was how it always was, nowadays. If it wasn’t one thing, then it was another. If he wasn’t cold, then he was hungry. If he wasn’t tired, then he was pained, achy.

Hesitantly, Merlin wet his lips, looking around the darkened room.

Usually they didn’t turn off the blaringly brilliant overhead lights out in the hallway, least it spook a rather antsy patient. But Merlin was in ‘special’ confinement again – having thrown a rather spectacular fit on the way to electroshock. Because of that, he was in total darkness. They had covered his door’s window.

He couldn't even see a hand held inches in front of his face.

Fingers twitching, one hand unwrapping from around the wrist of the other, Merlin carefully reached up to touch at the raw spot on the side of his head where the electrode had been attached. It hurt to touch, making Merlin wince. A low whine escaped his lips.

It had hurt. It still did.

Everything hurt nowadays.

Faintly, as if in a dream, Merlin, scooted back against the padded wall, leaning his head against its cold surface. Everything felt like a dream nowadays; the drugs they slipped into his food and injected into his arm and forced down his throat made sure of that.

The only good thing to come of this, to come of this forced dream-like state, this constant trance, was the vivid memories of Arthur.

 _Arthur_.

Merlin licked his lips again, wondering why they were so dry, so chapped. When had he last drunk water? He’d spit it at the nurse – that’s what had happened. He’d spit it at the nurse along with the pill, and had been rewarded by a hard slap to the side of the face. A hard slap and no water.

Faintly disoriented, Merlin reached up and touched his face again, brushed down from where the electrode had marred him and grazing instead over the bruised skin of his cheek. The nurses and orderlies and workers here weren't afraid to rough up a patient. They especially weren't afraid when the patient was put in here for homosexuality.

Merlin choked, then, flashes of Arthur’s grinning face pushing to the forefront of his mind, unwarranted but not unwanted.

Arthur, bringing him a bouquet of roses after a performance. Arthur, massaging his feet after a rather grueling practice session. Arthur, throwing him over his shoulder and playfully dragging him to the bedroom, tossing him down and ravishing his mouth.

…Arthur, screaming as he was being held back, as Uther watched impassively…

As Merlin was taken away.

And dammit, Merlin was crying again. He didn’t know why they kept coming – the tears. They trailed down his face, mixing with snot, making his eyes red and sore. He didn’t know why he kept crying; it wasn’t like his tears would change the past. It wasn’t like his tears could change his future.

Arthur had been taken to America – on some ‘extended vacation’ with his father. Uther refused to have his golden boy’s reputation tarnished – not with such a sinful act. So instead, he had made Merlin disappear, making sure he would lose all accountability (after all, who trusted an insane man?).  He had made Merlin disappear, taken Arthur away.

Left him to rot.

Merlin swallowed, heavily. His body ached. Everything ached.

He just wanted Arthur.

God, he fucking wanted Arthur.

It was in that moment, huddled in a helpless ball in the asylum, that Merlin realized why the tears kept streaking down his face.

Why they would never stop, even if it was useless.

\---

There was some futility, ingrained into humanity, dug deep into human nature, which left every last man, woman and child with a pathetically intense capacity for hope. There was a futility,  deeply ingrained into Merlin’s veins, that left him hoping every day, even when he knew, _knew_ , that Arthur would never come back for him.

It was this same futility that kept him pushing, that made Merlin wake up every morning, even as his mind deteriorated and the dreams and reality and memories and drugs began to all mix into a haze.

It was this same futility that had Merlin waiting at the window, and then eventually only able to wait in his bed (his legs having given out months ago) for the day Arthur would come for him.

And it was this same futility that had Arthur, finally – _finally_ – barging into the doors of Avalon Asylum, eyes still fiery and ablaze with love and passion and desperation.

But it was all in vain – because no matter the level of hope a man could hold in his heart, it could never fix a deteriorating body.

Merlin had died five years earlier.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, it ends weirdly, sorry! Thanks for reading!


End file.
